Fighter
by xBleedingBlackRosex
Summary: Blaine volunteers in Kurt's place, and it's going to take more than a sharp mind and a promise ring to keep him safe in the arena. Rated T for injury. Established Klaine
1. Chapter 1: The Volunteer

**I know this idea has been overused to death, but I couldn't help it. :) haha enjoy!**

**I LISTENED TO BLAINE'S 'FIGHTER' THE ENTIRE TIME I WROTE THIS AND I HAVE NO REGRETS. Welp.**

…

His parents came first.

"Blaine, what were you _thinking_?" his mother cried, rushing across the room and locking her arms around him. He hugged her back tightly.

"I'm sorry, Mom, I had to," he tried to explain.

His father clapped him on the shoulder, his expression torn between resigned and disbelief. "Blaine," he said gravely. "You...You're smart. You might actually have a chance at winning this thing. I want you to try your absolute best, alright?"

He nodded wordlessly up at him.

"And..." He shifted on his feet uneasily. "I-...I'm proud of you, son."

Blaine just nodded again. It was the first time he'd ever heard that coming from his father. And he knew it would probably be the last.

Cooper swept him up the second their mother released him. "You _idiot_," he mumbled into Blaine's hair, voice cracking with suppressed tears. Blaine clung to him for all he was worth. Cooper drew back just enough to look him in the eye. "Listen, Blaine, you can _do_ this. I know you can. You're strong."

"I'm minuscule," he muttered.

"That doesn't _matter_," Cooper insisted. "Let them all fight each other; you know how to _survive_. You can outlast them."

Blaine buried his head into his big brother's chest, trying to memorize the sensation in case it was his last chance. Cooper let out a single, strangled sob, pressing a kiss to Blaine's curls the way he used to do when they were younger and Blaine ran to him for comfort, upset about one thing or another.

Then their time was up, and his mother was crying even harder and his father was gently steering her out of the room and Cooper was saying, "You can do this, Blaine! I believe in you!" while the Peacekeepers forced him back into the hall. The door shut, and silence fell.

Before Blaine could do anything except take a deep breath and wonder who was next, the door practically flew open again, and Kurt burst in.

"You're so stupid!" he accused, throwing his arms around his neck and pulling him as close as possible so they were flush against one another. Blaine's arms automatically found their way around Kurt's waist, where they squeezed him tight. "Why- How could you- I can't believe you would- Of all the- _Bla-aine_!"

"Sssh, it's okay," he whispered, massaging soothing patterns into Kurt's lower back. "I'm sorry. Please don't cry."

"Y-You shouldn't have done that," Kurt whimpered, his voice muffled as he pressed his face into the crook of Blaine's neck. He could feel Kurt's tears on his eyelashes as they brushed against his skin. "I can't lose you, Blaine. You can't _die_. Not now. Not like this. I _need_ you."

Blaine's heart convulsed, and it was all he could do not to break down in Kurt's arms and weep like a baby. He had to be strong. "I need you, too," he muttered, voice rough but passionate. "I'll come back to you, Kurt. I- I'll win for you. And I'll come back. And then you can scold me for the rest of our lives for being so reckless, okay?"

Kurt let out a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. He took a half-step back, his hands moving to either side of Blaine's face. They took a moment to just study each other, to engrain their faces into their memories. Then Kurt reached down and removed the silver ring from his middle finger.

"I-...I want you to wear this. Into the arena. As your token from your District."

Blaine gasped. "No! Kurt, I couldn't-"

"You _can_," he insisted, speaking quickly now. He knew their time was short. "_Please_, Blaine. Think of it as- as a reason. Now you _have_ to come back, right?"

Blaine bit his lip. "_You're_ the only reason I need." But he held out his right hand, and Kurt slipped it onto his ring finger. He studied it for a second. It was a simple silver band, with a pattern of twisting vines, faded with time but no less beautiful. "Thank you..."

"Love is your greatest strength," the tall brunette murmured in his ear. "Never forget that."

He sniffed and drew Kurt in for a kiss, pouring every emotion he felt into it. He could feel Kurt doing the same in return, arms wrapping around his boyfriend again and holding him close, desperate to never let him go but knowing he must.

The door opened. Their time was up.

"I love you! Win for me!" Kurt begged, reaching for Blaine even as the Peacekeepers dragged him towards the door. "You've _got_ to come back to me, you hear me? Blaine!"

"I will!" he swore, his throat tight and his heart racing. "Kurt, I love y-" But the door closed on his words. Kurt was gone. He was alone.

…

_Blaine remembered when he'd first heard the story of the ring. He and Kurt had been relaxing in Kurt's bed, the afternoon sunlight illuminating the tiny room and creating shadows across Kurt's features. Blaine had brushed aside a piece of hair that had fallen loose onto Kurt's forehead, kissing the spot of skin it had briefly hidden._

_He had noticed the box before – the one that sat on Kurt's bedside – but he finally decided to ask about it._

_'Oh, this?' Kurt had said, picking it up and removing the lid. Inside sat a gorgeous ring that looked old and delicate. 'It was my mother's. It's the only thing I have left of her.'_

_Blaine had frowned. He did not know much about Kurt's mother; only that she'd died when he was very young, and he'd been raised by his father. 'What happened to her?'_

_Kurt's jaw clenched, and Blaine had instantly moved to draw him back into his embrace. 'She had me when she was seventeen,' Kurt finally murmured. 'She was Reaped when she was eighteen. Dad told me she made it into the final eight, but she- she obviously wasn't the Victor, in the end. I've worn it to the Reaping every year now since I was twelve, just in case I-..."_

_Blaine had kissed the tiny wrinkle of concern between Kurt's eyebrows. 'You won't be,' he had assured. 'There's no way someone as wonderful as you could get Reaped.'_

_Kurt had laughed, and kissed him for that._

…

The train ride to the Capitol was a blur. Literally. It's speed was astonishing. Blaine had spent a good five minutes simply gazing out the window in awe. Effie thought his reaction was marvelous.

The girl from District 12, Rachel Berry, seemed to be two completely separate people – she was either bouncing in her seat, eager to see the Capitol and raving on and on about how fabulous it must be to live there, demanding all sorts of details from a delighted Effie; or else she was curled up in a ball, crying and begging to go home. Blaine wasn't sure which side he liked better.

They met Haymitch. He was about as much of a drunken slob as Blaine remembered from his times seeing him stumbling down the path into town from the Victor Village. _Great. My mentor is completely worthless._

"So, do either of you have any talents?" Haymitch asked the two of them, throwing back a mouthful of scotch.

Rachel perked up. "Oh, I can sing!" she grinned. "And dance. Would you like to see?"

Haymitch had laughed so hard at that he dropped his drink. Even Blaine thought her confusion was a little humorous, but he had the tact not to say anything. "Sorry to break it to you, darling, but you can't _sing and dance_ somebody to death." He snorted and got up to refill his glass, not seeming to care about the large puddle of scotch on the floor. "So, any talents that could actually _help_ you guys in the arena?"

Blaine bit his lip, glancing to Rachel. She seemed stumped. "I know some...survival skills," he shrugged, thinking back to the things Cooper had taught him in the woods behind their house. "I can make traps, find water, make weapons if need be..."

Haymitch pointed to him. "See? _That's_ a good skill!" He nodded, looking appeased. "I'd have preferred 'I'm a mass-killing machine without a soul,' but I'm not picky."

Rachel looked panicked now. "I- I grew up in a tailor shop! I can sew..."

Haymitch's silence spoke volumes. Blaine was just glad he didn't have some snappy retort; it was clear that Rachel was at a severe disadvantage. This was no time to be making fun of her.

"We'll work with what you've got," Haymitch finally muttered, before retreating to his room with the rest of the liquor. Rachel turned to Blaine with a frantic look in her eyes. He just gave her a small smile before he too retired for the night. He couldn't get too friendly; in a few day's time, they'd be pitted against one another, and he couldn't afford any liabilities.

But that reasoning didn't stop the guilt that mercilessly twisted his insides.

…

Kurt watched the Capitol's coverage of the tributes' arrivals obsessively. School became a burden; his friends were nothing but distractions. The only time he accepted any of their invitations to come over was when he knew they had a better television than him, and would be willing to turn it on while he was there. He kept a constant eye out for any news of Blaine, any glimpse or mention of him. Everybody understood, and humored him. Because they knew about their relationship, and had supported them, and probably all would have turned up to their wedding.

_Will_, he corrected himself vehemently, perched on his best friend Mercedes's worn out couch. _They _will_ show up for the wedding._ Kurt and Blaine would still get married one day; he refused to think otherwise. When this was all over, and Blaine was back in his arms...Kurt would make absolutely certain they spent the rest of their lives together. He'd probably propose on the spot, grand plans be damned.

"Mercedes," he called. "The tributes are about to come out."

"Oh, good!" He heard a clattering from the kitchen, and then Mercedes appeared, sinking down next to him to watch the show. Because that's what the Games were. It was all just one big broadcasted _show_. "I hope the stylists for District Twelve didn't just stick them in overalls again..."

Kurt said nothing. Just watched, and waited.

When the final chariot appeared, the crowd went wild, and Kurt and Mercedes gasped, as did the announcer, Caesar Flickerman.

"Well would you look at that, folks!" he gushed as the cameras focused on Blaine and Rachel. "That's really something...The new stylists have definitely upped their game this year! Our tributes from District Twelve, the coal mining District, are dressed, if I'm not mistaken, like burning coal!"

Kurt nodded absently at the screen. The black, skin-tight suits seemed to be shimmering red, as if under immense heat. And they looked _good_. Both of them. Although Kurt really only had eyes for his boyfriend, who was waving to the crowd and flashing that winning smile of his that could melt any heart. He caught one of the roses tossed to him and, in an act of gentlemanliness that had half the women in the audience swooning, handed it to Rachel.

"The audience is loving it!" Caesar enthused. "I think it's pretty obvious that Blaine Anderson, from District Twelve, has already won over the hearts of the people! And look at Miss Rachel Berry, isn't she a beaut?"

"He looks good," Mercedes whispered.

Kurt swallowed thickly. "He always has."

They sat in silence for the rest of the broadcast, as President Sylvester made her typical speech welcoming the tributes to the Capitol and wishing them luck during the Games. Then Caesar was back on, chatting with one of the Gamemakers about the costumes and what he thought of the stylists' interpretations of each District's fortes.

Mercedes sighed, and placed a gentle hand on Kurt's shoulder. "He did good. The people are going to remember him, which means sponsors are going to be more willing to help him out in the arena." She leaned forward to catch his eye. "Hey. It's gonna be okay..."

"You don't know that," he whispered.

She chose her words carefully. "All I know for certain is that that boy _loves_ you, Kurt, and he's going to give it his all and fight tooth and nail to get back to you. So don't you _dare_ lose faith in him, alright? You need to be his number one supporter, just like you've always been."

Kurt sniffed, and nodded.

"Yeah," he mumbled, brushing tears from his eyes and gracing her with a tentative smile. "I think I can do that."

…

Despite his misgivings about getting too close to Rachel, Blaine found himself spending most of his time in the training room with her. As he'd feared, she was not too talented in any weaponry use. She was, however, hard-working and eager to try new things, sticking with something until she finally got it. They mostly stuck to the survival stations, like camouflaging and building fires and setting traps and knot-tying. Blaine briefly tried out the different combat stations as well and found that he was much better with close-distance fighting, with swords and the like, than with spears and throwing knives.

"Why don't we try archery?" Rachel suggested, as bubbly as ever even though she'd just nearly taken out one of the assistants at the lance station when she completely missed the dummy.

Blaine's stomach dropped. "I- Maybe later, okay?"

She frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I just..." He glanced at the sleek bow, remembering Kurt's homemade wooden one back in District 12 and getting a powerful jolt of homesickness. The forest bordering the northern side went right up into the Andersons' backyard, and sometimes, when the electric fence was off, Kurt and Blaine would go deeper into the woods together. Kurt would hunt, and Blaine would set snares, but for the most part they just relaxed in the temporary privacy the trees provided. "My boyfriend is really good at it. He- He tried to teach me how to shoot, but he was always much better than me."

Her eyes widened in understanding. "Oh. Okay. Yeah, that's fine. Sure." She glanced towards the archery station again and added kindly, "Kurt, right? Kurt Hummel?"

The sound of his name twisted Blaine's intestines. He missed him like crazy and it had only been two days. "Yeah...That's him."

She smiled. "He's very handsome. I don't know how he always manages to look so nice, considering how run-down our District is."

A laugh startled out of him. "Well, I suppose it's just his natural beauty...No amount of dust or mud could ever hide that."

She linked their arms together and dragged him back towards the camouflaging station, cheerful as ever. "Well, I definitely think he would fit in well here. The styles here in the Capitol are simply outrageous! He could probably make it big as some high-end designer or something, wouldn't you say?"

To his dismay, Blaine had done the one thing he'd told himself not to.

He'd made a friend.

And friends were the absolute hardest to kill.

…

The next day, during training, Rachel helped Blaine figure out what he was going to show the Gamemakers during their private sessions the following morning. They were at the knot-tying station again, trying out a harder one that even Blaine was struggling with, and observing the other tributes.

"I've always been awful with names," Rachel bemoaned. "Are you any good?"

Blaine shrugged modestly. "I think I remember all their names."

Rachel straightened. "Really?" she said eagerly. "Okay, who's...that?" She pointed to the vivacious mocha-skinned Career slashing at the dummies with a double-ended spear.

"Santana Lopez."

"And...him?" The muscular boy with the odd haircut.

"Noah Puckerman, but I think the other Careers call him just Puck."

"What about him?" The cocky, egotistical boy from District 11.

"Sebastian Smythe."

"And that guy with him? With the curly hair?"

"Jesse St. James."

"Wow, you're good..." she admired. "Okay, um...The girl with the weights over there."

"Lauren Zizes."

"And the tall guy? Trying to build a fire?"

"Finn Hudson."

She sighed, sinking back onto her heels. "I'll never remember all of them," she groaned. Blaine chuckled. "Well, if we're lucky most of them will die off soon enough and I won't have to feel so bad about not knowing their names. Although it would be really awkward to meet their families during the Victory Tour and have to pretend to be sorry for the deaths of people I never even knew the names of..."

"I _would_ be sorry," Blaine mused, finally undoing the knot he'd been working on and starting to redo it once more.

She glanced over at him. "Even if they were mean to you? Even if they did something really rude?"

"What, you mean like try to kill me?"

They paused, and then both broke down in stifled laughter, before remembering that it wasn't proper form and stopping.

"You're awful," he hissed at her, still smiling.

"You're worse," she threw back, giggling. "But seriously, Blaine. Your memory is _really_ good."

"Thank-" He stopped, realizing what station he wanted to try out. Dropping his half-finished knot, he made his way over to the computer, Rachel scrambling after him in confusion. The previous tribute – an air-headed blonde girl from District 9 – had just left, so it was free for him to try. Ignoring Rachel's questions, he studied the board in front of him.

"There are thirty different pairs, sixty in total," the assistant at the station explained. "Each card has a symbol. You are given one minute to memorize as much of it as you can, and then they will all be turned blank and you will need to match up the paired symbols as quickly as possible. When you're ready for the minute to begin, hit that button."

Blaine nodded his thanks.

"Ooh, this'll be good," Rachel breathed from behind him. He gave her a look over his shoulder that told her to be quiet, and she mimicked zipping her lips. He then hit the button and focused on the symbols before him.

_A leaf, a berry, a water drop, another leaf. Branch, pebble, snake, arrow, hand. Another arrow. Knife, eye, wheat, shoe, owl. Cockroach, another berry._

When the minute was up, and the cards were wiped clean, his fingers flew over the screen, tapping out the pairs, picturing the entire board in his mind. He finished within a minute an a half with 92% accuracy.

"Blaine," Rachel whispered conspiratorially. "I think you just found your skill."

He nodded wordlessly.

…

**In the next chapter, they're going to have their interviews and then be placed in the arena! Dun dun duuuuuun. As you might be able to tell, this is going to be fast-paced.**

**I'll be updating every other day, unless I don't have internet or something. :) Reviews are lovely! Feel free to go spam my Tumblr as well (rippleklainebagels).**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	2. Chapter 2: The Boy with the Ring

**Alright, chapter 2! :) You're gonna experience the Games through both Blaine's and Kurt's pov.**

…

Haymitch plunked down into the seat next to Rachel at dinner after the private sessions the next day. "So, what'd you guys end up doing?" He seemed semi-coherent this time; probably only one or two glasses in. Blaine considered that an improvement.

He swallowed his mouthful of potato before answering, "Memorization. I did that computer thing where you have to match up the paired cards."

"Oh? And how'd you do?"

"Ninety-seven percent accuracy in a minute, ten seconds. I probably could have done better if I hadn't been rushing..." Haymitch toasted him with his glass of gin to show his approval. "Then I took some paint from the camouflage station and recreated the entire board on the ground. Every single card."

There was a pause. Haymitch blinked at him as if trying to make sure he'd heard right.

"You- That's incredible, Blaine!" Effie beamed. "Oh, how wonderful! I never realized you were so brainy!" She knocked lightly on his skull. Haymitch snorted into his gin at Blaine's expression. "And what did you do, Rachel, sweetie?"

The poor girl looked completely distraught. "I panicked," she confessed. "I- I wasn't sure what to do, so I just sort of did some knots and built a snare."

There was something else she wasn't saying. "And?" Blaine urged.

She took a deep breath. "I sang through the whole thing."

Blaine glanced to the others to gage their reactions. Effie looked horrified; Haymitch merely looked contemplative. "You...sang," Haymitch echoed. "Did they like it?"

She blushed. "I, um, I'm not sure...They didn't comment on it."

He pursed his lips. "Well, that's definitely rememberable, at least. I guess we'll just have to wait for the results tonight to know how they took it."

…

Kurt poked his father awake. "Dad, Blaine's about to come on."

The older man grunted and rubbed sleep from his eyes, blinking hard to focus his gaze on the television screen, where Rachel, dressed in a floor-length red gown that seemed to be sizzling with its own heat source, was exiting the stage to a wave of polite clapping. The audience was dying down; they'd already been through twenty-three interviews and were getting bored. Blaine was last.

The moment he appeared, Kurt went still as a board. He looked amazing, clad in a simple black tux with a red tie that matched Rachel's dress. His curls were loose, but still tame, a feat that Kurt knew from experience was nearly impossible to achieve. Kudos went to his stylist for that.

"Welcome, Blaine, welcome!" Caesar greeted, jovial as ever as they shook hands and settled down. "Now, tell me, what made you volunteer at the Reaping for that young man, Kurt Hummel? It's not often people in the outer Districts volunteer..."

Blaine hesitated before responding. "Have you ever been in love, Caesar?"

The audience laughed; tributes did not usually ask the interviewer any questions in return. But he took it in his stride. "Can't say I have, no, Blaine. Why?"

"Because it's the greatest feeling in the whole world." A dreamy smile came onto his face, and Kurt recognized it. It meant Blaine was thinking about him. "When you love somebody with all your heart, you're willing to do _anything_ to protect them from harm. Even if it means putting yourself in danger."

The audience 'aww'ed, led by Caesar. Kurt bit his lip hard to keep from crying. His father put an awkward arm around his shoulders.

"I see..." Caesar smiled. "So you'd rather risk your own life rather than let Kurt, your-...?"

"Boyfriend," Blaine supplied.

Caesar nodded once in understanding. "Rather than let your boyfriend participate in the Games. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"I see. And do you think you have a better chance of winning the Games than Kurt?"

He chuckled good-naturedly. "No, probably not. Kurt's extremely talented. And _very_ likable! I bet he could just _charm_ his way through it, you know – someone has a knife at his throat, 'Oh, my word, you have stunning eyes! The girls must just be _lining up_ to date you.' And just like that, they let him go. He'd be invincible."

The audience laughed and cheered. It was clear they were quickly warming to him. Blaine always had been good with crowds.

"And did Kurt come see you? After the Reaping?" Caesar pressed.

"Yes, of course."

"What did he say?"

Blaine hesitated; it was clear he wanted to keep their last conversation private. Kurt would have done the same. Their last words to each other were for their knowledge only. So instead Blaine said, "Well, actually, he gave me the token from my District I'll be wearing into the arena tomorrow."

"Oh?" Caesar sat up even straighter to show his interest. "And what might that be?"

Blaine held up his right hand, where the silver band around his ring finger shone brightly in the stage lights. Kurt's breath caught in his throat. _It looks perfect on him_, he thought. He felt Burt lean forward on the couch. Kurt had told him that he'd given Blaine the ring, but this was his first time seeing it in Blaine's possession.

"Oh, now that's _lovely_, isn't it, folks?" Caesar reached forward and bent Blaine's hand to get a better look, before angling it towards the camera and beaming. The audience made noises of agreement. "Why this, might I ask? Does it have some special meaning to you two?"

Blaine stroked his thumb over the swirling, vine-like pattern reverently. He spoke quietly, but the crowd had gone dead silent; they all wanted to hear his answer. A couple women pressed handkerchiefs to their mouths to stifle their girlish squeals. _They must think this is all so romantic_, Kurt glowered. "It was the only thing he had left of his mother. And he- he wanted me to wear it."

"Is it a promise ring of some sort, then?" Caesar prodded gently.

Blaine paused. "In a way," he allowed. "It's...Yes. A promise. It's his promise to me, to wait for me. And it's my promise to him, to return."

Half the audience burst into tears, and the other half applauded up a storm. They were all obviously very awake now, their interest piqued by this heart-wrenching love story. Kurt felt his hands curl into fists. They just enjoyed the drama. They took pleasure in his suffering. It was _sick_.

When the din had died down, Caesar said, "Alright, one last question and then you can go. Is there anything you wish you could have told Kurt that you never did? Something you want him to know?"

Blaine swallowed and turned to speak directly to the camera. Kurt could feel his warm amber gaze through the screen. "Just...that I love him. I love him more than anything in the world, and there is _nothing_ I won't do to get back to him."

"Well, we all want to see you get back to him, too," Caesar assured brightly. "Blaine Anderson, District Twelve!"

Blaine left the stage on a wave of clapping and sobbing.

…

"Brilliant!" Haymitch hissed triumphantly, clapping both hands on Blaine's shoulders and nearly making the teenage boy fall over. "This is great! Their eating out of the palm of your hand! This long-distance love angle could really work to our advantage."

"So you're going to exploit my relationship?" Blaine mumbled sulkily.

"Precisely!" Haymitch shook the smaller man, causing him to stumble a little as they made their way back to the twelfth floor. Effie and Rachel trailed after them, discussing the latest Capitol fashion trends. "We've got to get you sponsors _somehow_, and this will do it! These people want somebody they can root for. And we need that guy to be _you_. They've got to want to see you get back home to Kurt safe and sound just as much as you do."

Blaine sighed. He had a valid argument. Getting more sponsors _would_ boost his chances.

"And you're doing a marvelous job!" Effie insisted, perky as ever as they reached the elevators. "You got a great score from the Gamemakers – don't give me that look, an eight is nothing to turn your nose up at! – and now you've got everybody interested in you. I'll leave you three here; I'm going to go mingle, see how you're both doing with the public. Keep up the good work, Sweetums!" She pinched Blaine's cheek, and then Rachel's, and scuttled off. Blaine took great pleasure in imagining setting her bubblegum pink wig on fire.

…

She reappeared at dinner, looking flustered but completely over the moon. "Oh, this is wonderful!" she chirped without invitation, sitting down and practically bouncing in her seat. "You two are the talk of the city, Blaine!" Rachel perked up, but then deflated when she realized Effie was talking about Kurt, not her. Blaine felt a stab of guilt. "The boy with the ring and his lover back home waiting for him to return...Oh, it's all so romantic! Everyone's in a titter!"

"The boy with the ring?" Haymitch echoed.

"Yes, yes," Effie said, flapping her hand impatiently. "It's what their calling Blaine now. That or 'lover boy,' but 'the boy with the ring' seems much more poetic, in my opinion. Blaine, well done, showing that off during your interview. Genius."

"I was just answering a question," he muttered. He thumbed over the ring under the table.

Haymitch took a swig of his water, glowering at it. No doubt he was dying for some whiskey. "Alright, this is good news, Blaine. You've made a title for yourself, however unintentionally; that means they _remember_ you. Which means you got some of them on your side, which means there are people _invested_ in seeing you win, which means _sponsors_, which means better chances in the arena, which means a higher likelihood of getting back to District Twelve alive, which means-"

"I get it, I get it!" Blaine couldn't help but snap. He pursed his lips, hating the attention. Effie and Haymitch looked taken aback by his outburst. He knew they were both just trying to help. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell."

Haymitch shrugged. "You're taking this all much better than my last year's tributes. The boy threw a bread bowl at my head."

"So uncivilized," Effie muttered, taking a dainty bite of her lamb chops.

Blaine picked at his dinner without much enthusiasm. _If Kurt was in my position, what __would he do? Would Haymitch try to sell the same kind of story? Would _he_ be the boy with the ring? Would he have actually faired better in the arena? What would he have done to impress the __Gamemakers? Probably archery. Or swords, I bet he'd be good with swords. Has he been watching me? He must have seen the mandatory broadcasts at the very least. How's he taking it?_

"Stop it."

He looked up to find Haymitch watching him. "Huh?"

"Stop," he repeated firmly. "You're thinkin' about Kurt again. I can tell."

Blaine frowned. "What, you don't want me to think about him? I thought you were all for using our relationship as a way to-"

"To get sponsors, _yes_," Haymitch cut in. "Not to put you in a funk. Look, I get it, you miss him. That's fine. But do _not_ let him distract you. He's there. You're here. _Work with what you've got._" And with that, he turned and began to discuss with Rachel her best strategy in the arena, which mostly consisted of running and hiding.

Blaine opened his mouth to try and protest, but he knew Haymitch had a point. He took a large bite of bread instead to keep from saying anything he'd regret. Haymitch just didn't get it, though. He _always_ thought about Kurt; it was impossible not to. It was probably the only thing keeping him sane at this point.

And he knew it'd be the only thing keeping him _alive_ in the arena.

…

That night, just as Blaine was settling down to bed, Haymitch came into his room without so much as a knock. He glared at him and bit back a comment on his awful lack of manners. Haymitch sank down on his plush chair, rubbing his temple. "Listen here, Blaine," he said, only slightly slurred. Apparently he'd given in and broken out the alcohol. "Some of the other mentors have approached me. Their tributes want to make an alliance with you. I told them I'd talk to you and get back to them."

Blaine bit the inside of his cheek, weighing the pros and cons of forming an alliance with anybody. "No," he decided pretty quickly. "I _have_ to win. It'll be a lot easier for me to kill somebody if I haven't befriended them first."

The older man nodded. "Wise move, lover boy. I'll let them know." He stood, but just as he reached the door he paused and turned back. "What about Rachel?"

Blaine frowned. "What about her?"

"Are you going to be allies with her? You two already seem sort of like friends."

"I-..." Blaine worried his bottom lip. He had become close with her in the past few days together; he knew that killing her would be nearly impossible. "I don't know. I suppose I'll just wait and see what happens. If I'm lucky someone else will give her a quick, painless death and I won't have to do it myself in the end."

Haymitch gave a curt nod and left, leaving Blaine alone. One side of his brain was bombarding him with guilt for wishing death upon someone as sweet as Rachel, but the other side reasoned that she would have to die in order for him to see Kurt again.

As he fell asleep, his eyes lingered on the ring shining dully in the moonlight from the window.

_I promise I'll return, Kurt. Just watch me._

…

Kurt awoke well before the sun did the next day.

Knowing it would be fruitless to try and go back to sleep, he rose and did his chores for the day. Then he settled down on the couch and turned on the projector. The Games weren't due to start for another couple of hours, though; it was still just Caesar and a few other spokespeople from the Capitol, debating the tributes' odds and pondering over what sort of arena would be used this year.

His father emerged from his room a little less than half an hour before the coverage of the Games began. Spotting his son on the couch, he sighed heavily, but did not comment.

"Have you already had breakfast?"

"Not hungry."

"Kurt..." Burt shook his head, realizing that it would be a lost cause to argue with his son, and instead moved into the kitchen to fix himself some food.

"Don't eat those geldberries," called Kurt monotonously. "They have way too much sugar. I'll bake them into a couple pies and sell them tomorrow morning."

There was some grumbling, but then Burt replied, "Wouldn't dream of it, kiddo."

Far too soon – and yet it felt like years to Kurt – Caesar Flickerman was announcing the opening shots of the arena, and suddenly the cameras switched to an entirely new setting. There was a long strip of grassland with tall, dry yellow grass and very few trees. To the left was a giant lake – a sea, more like – dotted with islands and sparkling in the bright (fake) sunlight. To the right, dense forest rose steadily into hills, which eventually turned into a mountain range.

The twenty-four tributes emerged from the ground on circular platforms equidistant from the shining Cornucopia. The cameras briefly passed over each face; Kurt tensed when he saw Blaine flash by. Most tributes were looking around, panicked. The Careers' gazes were locked on the piles of supplies at the mouth of the Cornucopia, fingers twitching, eager to grab a weapon and attack. Blaine, however, was observing his surroundings with a careful, calculating look.

_Don't run towards the Cornucopia_, Kurt silently prayed. _Don't get caught in the bloodbath. Please._

He should have known Blaine would not make a mistake like that.

When the sixty-second countdown ended, Blaine shot off towards the woods, grabbing no less than three bags along the way. As soon as he breeched the tree-line, though, he was lost from sight; the cameras preferred to maintain focus on the bloodbath that was unfolding.

Burt clapped a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "Smart kid," he said. "He'll be fine for now. Probably won't see him again until this initial fight is all over. You don't have to watch if you'd rather not. It's kind of" – they watched a kid's head get lobbed right off his shoulders – "gruesome."

Kurt nodded, even more pale than usual. He'd never been able to stomach the bloodbath before, and it was even worse this time around because Blaine was so close to that danger.

He stood and crossed to the kitchen. "I think I'll make those pies right now, actually. Think you could swing by the Hob and sell them on your way to work later?"

"Yeah, sure."

Burt watched the television for a few minutes more, grimacing at the violence unfolding on his screen, trying not to let the deaths of twelve- and thirteen-year-old boys and girls get to him. This happened every year; he should be used to it by now. But there was no way he would ever be unaffected by death. Even the death of strangers.

"What's going on?" Kurt called from the kitchen.

"I think it's starting to die down," replied Burt, flinching at the unintentional pun. "I can't tell how many people are dead...I counted ten, but there could be more...Haven't seen Rachel. Must have run off, too. Now the Careers are dragging the bodies away from the Cornucopia and gathering up all the supplies. They're-"

He broke off as the canons began to fire. Kurt froze his mixing, listening closely and counting in his head. _One...Two...Three..._

_Eleven._

"Thirteen still alive," Burt informed him. "Let's see, so that's all six of the Careers, plus Blaine and Rachel...Hold on." He listened to something the commentators were saying. They were no doubt running through the face-shots of the surviving tributes for the benefit of the audience. Kurt began mixing again, simply relieved that Blaine had made it. "Okay, then there's both tributes from District Three, the boy from Six, the girl from Eight, and the boy from Eleven."

Kurt took a deep breath and threw in the geldberries.

_The Games have begun._

…

**Don't worry, I'll use names of the characters, you won't have to try and follow along with just their District number and gender. That's way too complicated. :) Next chapter you'll find out who's still alive and how Blaine is fairing.**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	3. Chapter 3: Alliance

**By the by, this is the 58th arena, which means this is all pre-revolution/Katniss and Peeta. Sorry if that wasn't clear before :)**

…

Blaine knew he needed to find water, first and foremost. He wouldn't last long without it. But first he decided to find out what he had been able to snatch from the Cornucopia. After making sure there was no sign of any of the other tributes – they were probably all still back at the bloodbath, which he'd already put himself a good distance from – he sat down on a fallen log and opened up his bags. Rope, two empty canteens, dried meat, a water purifier, a raincoat, a sleeping bag, crackers, matches, a small knife and sheath.

He jumped when he heard the canons, then stilled as he counted them. _Eleven_. Which meant less than half had died. He wondered if Rachel had been among them.

After a moment, he decided it would be best to press on in search of a source of water, so he crammed everything into a single black pack, slid the knife into his pocket, and continued through the trees, ears attentive to any indication that he was going to have unwanted company. But nobody appeared. It was well passed midday, edging closer to evening, when he finally heard it.

The rushing, tinkling sound of moving water.

He sped up his pace, and within five minutes stumbled across a small river running downhill back towards the mini-savanna they started at. The water was clear, stretching about twenty feet in width but not very deep. He spotted a few colorful fish flitting around under the surface near the middle of the stream, swimming against the current.

The half hour he had to wait for the purifier to take effect was torture, but he managed. He then took a long drink from one of the two canteens, trying to pace himself but still finishing it off within five minutes. He refilled it before getting to work on a few snares, hoping that the critters of the forest would be drawn to the water and thus his traps.

Darkness was falling. He grabbed his bag and scaled a thick, branch-ladened tree, smiling as he did so. He'd always been good at climbing; Kurt used to affectionately call him 'my bushy-haired squirrel.'

The anthem played, and the eleven faces of the fallen lit up the sky. Rachel was not among them. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not. He tried to get comfortable; he would need his rest. All he could think about though was those warm nights wrapped up in Kurt's arms, so comfortable and at peace and loved, lost in their own private world.

"Goodnight, Kurt," he whispered to the sky. "Sweet dreams."

…

"Kurt, come on, you've got to get out of the house."

The teenage boy sat resolutely on the couch, eyes trained on the television. They had hardly ever wavered from the screen since the Games began; he didn't eat, barely slept. His father tried to persuade him to come help at the shop, or go hang out with friends, or bake, but he never moved from his spot. He couldn't. Not while Blaine was risking his life over in the arena at this very moment, where every second could be his last. Kurt had to watch. He had to know what was going on. He had to know Blaine was still alive.

"Kurt," Burt sighed, resting a hand on the back of the couch. "You're killin' yourself just watchin' all day long. You've got to keep yourself healthy! For Blaine's sake. If he comes home" – he caught the flash of rage and panic in his son's eyes and quickly amended – "_When_ Blaine comes home, how do you think he'd feel to find you half-starved and weak as a vegetable?"

"Blaine's suffering far worse than me right now," Kurt snapped, voice thick with suppressed emotion, raw from lack of use. His vision blurred. He quickly blinked away the tears; he had to be able to see. On the screen, a couple of the tributes ran into each other on the shore of the lake and began to fight. Kurt didn't even react. _They're not Blaine._

"So, what, if Blaine's sufferin', you gotta suffer, too?"

Kurt said nothing.

The older Hummel heaved another great sigh and sank down next to Kurt on the worn old couch. "Look," he started again, much more gently. "I get that you're worried for him. I am, too. Hell, the whole town is! But he's strong. Just because he's so small doesn't mean he can't win. He's smart, right?"

Kurt nodded reluctantly. Blaine had always been top of the class in school.

"See? And he's made it this far, right?"

"It's only been two days," Kurt reminded.

"Well, yeah, okay, but that's still something. And it looks like in a minute he'll have one less opponent to defeat." Burt leaned forward, trying to catch his son's eye. "He's _alive_, Kurt. Just be grateful for that. He's lasted this long, and he'll last to the end. And then he'll come back to us. To you. Okay?"

Kurt sniffed. "It's my fault he's there." His voice came out as a whimper, hardly registrable. On screen, the fight finally ended, and the surviving tribute limped off, leaving the fallen girl to be airlifted away.

Burt wrapped an arm firmly around Kurt's thin frame. "Hey, no, not this again. This is _not_ your fault."

"It was _my_ name that was called!" Kurt's emotionless façade broke down, and he finally turned away from the television to sob into his father's shoulder. Burt wrapped him in his arms and held him close, his heart breaking from his son's pain. "I should have gone. B-Blaine shouldn't have volunteered for me. Now he might d-die and it'll be all my fault, and I'll n-never get to see him again, and I c-can't-"

"Of _course_ you will," Burt insisted gruffly, determined to stay strong for Kurt's sake. "He's made it into the final eleven – sorry, ten now – hasn't he? And he has food, and water; he's in a lot better condition than some of the others. But it's not just that. Do you know why I know he'll win?"

Kurt drew back, wiping his eyes and sniffing. "N-No. Why?"

Burt waited until Kurt met his gaze before answering. "Because he's fighting for _you_. Because he has _you_ to come home to. And he's going to do his _damnedest_ to see you again."

A weak laugh escaped the younger Hummel. "He always was pretty stubborn..."

Burt grinned, glad to have finally penetrated the walls Kurt had built around himself since the Reaping. "Your damn right he is! When that kid sets his mind to something, he gets it done no matter what the cost. Remember when you two were younger, and you told him you always admired the flowers the women from the Capitol put in their hair?"

Kurt chuckled at the memory. "And so he snuck out of the District and picked flowers for me from the meadow...I remember."

Burt squeezed his shoulder in encouragement. "Blaine's going to be just fine, Kurt. I promise."

Kurt took a deep breath and nodded, resting his head on Burt's shoulder as they both turned their attention back to the television screen. The camera switched to Blaine for a brief moment. Burt felt his son tense at once. But his boyfriend was fine; he was lounging in a tree, nibbling on what appeared to be a handful of berries, the kind Kurt and Blaine used to pick in the springtime and feed each other until their lips and fingers were stained purple.

_He's going to be alright_, Burt thought, glancing at his son. _They'll both be._

…

Blaine knew he couldn't stay in one place too long. It was the morning of the third day, and after last night's projection in the sky, he knew there were still nine other tributes apart from himself left in the Games. _Rachel's one of them_, he thought. _Then Karofsky and Santana from District One, Harmony and Puck from Two, Sebastian from Three, Quinn from Four, Jesse from Six, and...Who's the last one? The boy from Eleven...Finn. Yes, that was it. The tall one._

He was just finishing packing up his bag when it heard it.

Footsteps.

Rapidly approaching footsteps.

Before he could find a hiding place, three people burst through the trees – two boys chasing a girl. Blaine's heart dropped when he recognized the thick brown hair. _Rachel_. She was sprinting for the water, eyes wide with fear, glancing over her shoulder every other step or so as her pursuers – Jesse St. James and Sebastian Smythe – gained on her.

Blaine knew he should run, get as far away from them as possible. He was pretty sure none of them had noticed him yet. He could do it; escape and find cover. But-

Rachel shrieked as her toe caught on a jagged rock, and she fell just before reaching the stream, her hands splashing down in the shallow water. Blaine gasped involuntarily.

"We've got you now, pipsqueak!" Jesse leered.

"Bet you're sorry you tried to steal our food now," said Sebastian, dangerously calm even though all three of them were breathing hard. He brandished his spear; it glinted in the sunlight. Rachel began to cry.

Blaine sighed internally. _Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit!_

"Poor little Distinct Twelve girl," Jesse teased in a baby voice, getting a tighter grip on his double-edged sword. "Only got a five from the Gamemakers. Couldn't find shelter or get her own food. So cold and hungry and pathet- Ow!" He swore loudly as Blaine's dagger dug into his shoulder. Before he could retaliate with a blow of his own, Blaine was racing passed him and grabbing Rachel's arm.

"Run!" was the only thing he shouted.

She stumbled up after him and they plunged into the knee-high water.

"Get back here!" Sebastian roared, picking up the chase once more. Jesse followed, clutching his shoulder and gritting his teeth. Blaine raced onward, tugging Rachel after him as they breached the opposite bank and charged up into the woods. They couldn't out-run the other two, but they were smaller; they might just be able to out-maneuver them. Blaine made a point of ducking under branches and fallen tree trunks that Sebastian and Jesse would have more trouble with. Rachel just stumbled along in his wake.

Blaine had no idea how long they were running for when they finally came across the cave. _Might as well take the risk_, he decided. _We can't keep running forever._ "Come on," he panted, yanking Rachel sideways. She saw where he was headed for and gave a wordless nod of agreement. He had her go first, wiggling through the small, tight opening on her stomach, before tossing his bag in after her and doing the same.

"We've got them now!" Sebastian cackled, skidding to a stop at the entranceway and falling to his knees to try and follow. He was too big, however; Blaine stomped on his hand when he tried to reach for them and heard a sickeningly satisfying crack. Sebastian howled and withdrew.

"Move aside," Jesse sighed impatiently. He, too, could not fit, though, and this time Blaine kicked out and smashed his nose. Jesse swore colorfully and reeled back.

"Let's just wait them out," Sebastian reasoned, still glaring sullenly at the entranceway. "They can't stay in there forever. They'll starve."

Jesse agreed, and Blaine heard them move a little aways away from the mouth of the cave.

Rachel's tears started up again. "What are we going to do?" she asked desperately, clinging to Blaine's bicep with a vice-like grip.

Blaine tried to keep calm. "First, you're going to let go of my arm." She quickly did so. "Second, we're going to see how bad your knees are."

She blinked, startled, but obediently straightened out her legs. Blaine winced at the sight of the bloodied patches of skin. He bit his lip. _We don't have any bandages or disinfectant or anything._ "There's not much we can do for them here," he admitted. "But I have some water we can use to clean them up a bit. One sec-"

"No. We- You should try and conserve that for as long as possible. Don't waste it."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, it's nice of you to try and be noble or whatever, but now's really not the time for it. If you're gonna die, I'd rather it not be from an infection. You need to keep those scrapes clean. It's fine." He opened up his pack. "You- Do you have anything? Did you grab a bag from the Cornucopia?"

She shook her head. "I- I just ran. I panicked. I've been hiding out but I was just so thirsty and hungry and they were cooking this quail and I could smell it and then they caught me and-" She sighed. "I'm sorry. Thank you. You know, for- for saving me."

He shrugged. "Don't mention it."

"So I guess this kind of makes us allies, huh?" she smiled.

Blaine pursed his lips, his back to her as he dug through his bag. "I suppose," he murmured. He pulled out a canteen. "Here. Have a drink first." She did as he said and took one big gulp before handing it back. He poured a controlled amount onto each knee and patted at them gently with the hem of his shirt. She did not make a noise. When they were as clean as he could make them in the circumstances, he recapped the canteen (now a little less than half full) and put it away.

"How much food do you have?" Rachel asked quietly.

He leaned against the back of the cave with her and sighed. "Not much. Two cooked squirrels, a handful of berries, and some crackers. Probably can last a few days, but not infinitely..."

"What do we do?"

Blaine closed his eyes, tried to remain calm even though panic coursed through him. "I have no idea, Rachel. I have absolutely no idea..."

She wrapped her arms around her skinned knees and leaned her head back against the stone. She said nothing more.

…

Kurt's fingernails dug into the fabric of the couch as he stared at the screen, leaning forward, lips quivering with unspoken words. Mercedes knew better than to try and speak. It was nighttime in the arena, but the cameras could still easily pick up everything that was happening. A couple of the Careers had run into Sebastian and Jesse outside the tiny cave, and a fight had broken out. They all seemed about evenly matched.

"There he is!" Mercedes hissed unnecessarily, pointing at the television as they watched Blaine and Rachel slip out of the cave. They inched around the edge of the battle, crouched low. Kurt's heart was in his throat. At any second, they could be discovered, and neither of them would have a very good chance. All they had between them in terms of weapons was that little dagger of Blaine's, and Kurt had never once seen him hurt so much as a fly.

_Don't look around, don't look around_, Kurt chanted.

"They won't," Mercedes assured quietly. Kurt jumped a little; he hadn't realized he'd been speaking aloud. She giggled and patted his knee. "They're a little preoccupied, in case you didn't notice."

"There's always the chance," he muttered.

She shrugged in acknowledgement. But they both breathed a great sigh of relief a minute later when Blaine and Rachel disappeared between the trees without being caught. The cameras remained focused on the fight, so Kurt didn't know where they'd gone off to. But he was content to know Blaine was safe.

At least for the moment.

…

**Yay! Alive for another day! You're welcome ;)**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	4. Chapter 4: The Finger

**This one has some violence/blood, so be warned. :) I don't think it's too bad, though...I'm trying to keep this T, after all. Enjoy!**

…

Blaine and Rachel ended up at the same river they'd run into each other. There had been no canon fire to indicate a death, which meant either the fight was still going on or they had broken up.

"We might as well stop for the night, get some rest," Blaine suggested.

Rachel bent over double, breathing hard but nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, good, okay. Cool."

He glanced at Rachel's knees. "Can you climb?"

She straightened up. "I think so, yeah."

It took a bit of tricky maneuvering, but they finally managed to scale an old oak with wide, sturdy branches. Blaine offered her the sleeping bag, but she insisted he should use it since he was the one to grab it, so in the end they compromised and shared it. It was a tight squeeze, but at least it was warm.

"I've never slept so close to someone before," Rachel confessed with a tentative smile.

"I have," Blaine mused, thinking of all those times he and Kurt had snuggled up close in either of their beds, or on the couch, or in the meadow. "But never with a girl."

"I promise to keep my hands to myself."

There was a beat, and then they both burst into stifled laughter. Blaine knew how insane it was, to be laughing when they were both stuck in the middle of the Hunger Games, but at the same time it felt like a huge weight was being lifted from his chest. He welcomed the temporary escape from the stress and fear the arena instilled.

…

The next morning, Blaine taught Rachel how to set up his snares. He then helped her chisel a wooden spear from a branch with his dagger. After a small lunch of squirrel and berries, Rachel agreed to try to catch some fish (Blaine was not very hopeful, but he did not say as much) while he went off to check their traps.

Unfortunately, they were out of luck; all of them were empty. Sighing heavily, he began to head back to their 'camp' of sorts. He'd hardly taken two steps, however, when there came a heart-stopping sound. A sound he recognized all too well.

Footfalls.

"Well well well, if it isn't lover boy," Harmony drawled, casually withdrawing an arrow from the pouch on her back. Puck snickered at her side.

Every swear word Blaine had ever known flew to his mind. He couldn't _believe_ his bad luck. Not only was he completely weaponless – he'd left the dagger back with Rachel – but he was outnumbered to boot. _At least I can try and buy her some time..._

_'No!'_

He blinked. Kurt filled his vision, clear as day, glowering at him the way he did when he was upset with him. It was the same frown Blaine had seen on his face on his sixteenth birthday, when Blaine had bought him that silky Capitol scarf Kurt insisted was too expensive. Blaine never regretted it, though; the sight of Kurt's eyes lighting up whenever he wore it was priceless.

_'You are _not_ about to die, Blaine Anderson. You promised to come back to me! You're going to fight. Use your surroundings. Outsmart them! They have strength, but you have brains.'_

"No, no, he's the boy with the ring, remember?" Puck reminded, scoffing at the title. He ran a hand over the flat side of his sword, as if caressing it.

"Oh, right," Harmony agreed, her smirk widening. Blaine's back met something solid – a tree trunk. "Well, maybe we should change that. What do you think, Puck? I do love me some jewelry..."

"You want his _ring_?" Puck snickered. "You're such a girl!"

"Shut it, Mohawk," she snapped.

Puck shrugged, undeterred. "Alright, alright. Hurry it up, though. I just wanna kill him and get it over with."

Blaine glanced around frantically. _Use my surroundings? There's nothing but trees! How am I supposed to fight two Careers with swords and arrows when all I've got is-?_

And then he saw it.

The hollow in a tree, about twenty paces to his left.

Small, seemingly harmless brown birds were flitting in and out of it every now and then, chirping innocently. But he recognized them from the textbooks. They were Redbeaks – birds that, when threatened or agitated, attacked without mercy, pecking with their long, sharp beaks and releasing a deadly poison that could kill even the strongest of men. When the were through, their beaks were always coated in blood, thus their name.

"What'cha lookin' at, lover boy?"

He gasped. He'd been so focused on the birds, he'd failed to notice Harmony draw closer, but now she was a mere foot away, a lethal glint in her eye. She was out for blood. Blaine's blood. He tried to back away, but the tree trunk was blocking his path. She sneered at him before walloping him across the face with her bow.

"Where's all your sponsors now, huh?" she cried, sounding utterly insane. Blaine tried to sit up, ignoring the throbbing in his right cheekbone, but before he could move she was on him, pinning him down with her knees, an arrow loaded and pointing directly at his heart. "You're not going _anywhere_."

Puck snorted and jogged over to where Blaine's right hand was scrabbling to push Harmony off of him. He snatched it and yanked it off, holding it down easily against the forest floor. The tip of his blade nudged his ring. Kurt's ring.

"No!" he cried before he could stop himself. _Not the ring. Please. Anything but the ring!_

Puck glanced to Harmony, who nodded impatiently. Blaine's effort to free himself doubled. He became frantic. Harmony pressed her arrow into his chest warningly; the tip pierced his skin. Puck lined his sword up perpendicular to Blaine's hand at the base of his ring finger, just under Kurt's mother's silver band.

"No, no, _no_-!" he begged.

A crunch, and then a slicing, burning pain cut through his entire arm, and he screamed. His muscles spasmed; his vision went dark. It felt like every nerve in his right hand had caught on fire. He'd never known this kind of pain before. It was all he could do not to shout himself hoarse.

_'Pay them back for this.'_

Kurt's voice in his ear snapped him out of his searing, overwhelming trance. He struck out blindly, feeling his fist connect with Puck's jaw, and the larger boy grunted in surprise.

"Puck!" Harmony yelled.

Blaine grabbed her arrow and thrust it back at her, catching her in the throat and making her choke. He rolled, throwing her off of him, and ran blindly towards the Redbeaks.

"Stop!" she shrieked.

He heard the twang of the bow and reacted instinctively. All the breath was knocked out of him as he hit the ground, and he could feel the arrow rush over him.

There was a horrific, high-pitched chirp, and Blaine knew the arrow had found its mark.

Not daring to look back, he pushed to his feet and ran, flat-out _sprinting_ away from the scene, trying not to listen as Harmony and Puck's cries filled the air, mixing with the Redbeaks' terrible trills. A couple of the vicious birds caught him, poking a few shallow holes into his left shoulder and arm, but he waved them off and luckily they flew off to join the attack on the other two tributes. Blaine's breathing was labored and his hand still felt like it was about to fall off, but adrenaline kept him going, propelling him through the forest until he found himself back at the tiny outcrop he'd left Rachel and his pack. There was no sign of her. Falling to his knees, he thrusted his hand into the river, groaning when the water rushed passed his wound. A cloud of red immediately billowed out around it. His stomach churned; he had to look away.

"Blaine?" he heard Rachel call, but he didn't look up.

Her light footsteps approached. "Blaine, I managed to catch two fish, and I could have caught a third if- _What happened to your hand?_" She dropped her spear and fish and fell to her knees beside him, a hand on his back, staring horrified at the streaks of blood floating down the river from his hand. It took her a second to see through the distorting water and realize what was wrong. "Blaine, your-..." She took a deep, shaky breath. "Your finger. Where-...? I mean, what-?"

"They took it."

She blanched. "Your _finger_? That's absolutely disgu-"

"_The ring!_" he shouted, blinking back tears of frustration. "Puck and Harmony. They attacked me and cut off my finger because Harmony wanted my ring. _Kurt's_ ring. They just _took_ it, Rachel."

"Oh, Blaine..." She rubbed his back, sympathy clear on her face. "I- I'm so sorry! That's- At least you're alive. How'd you escape?"

Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to cry. He tried to wiggle the fingers on his right hand and gasped at the fresh wave of pain that rocketed down his arm. More blood leaked out. He wondered vaguely if that amount of blood in the water could kill the fish downstream. He found that he didn't care. "They- Harmony shot an arrow into a Redbeak nest. I ran while they were being swarmed."

"Is that where you got these?" Rachel indicated the circular cuts on his left arm, which had already stopped bleeding.

"Yeah."

Rachel tried to look encouraging. "Well, if we're lucky those Redbeaks will kill off Puck and Harmony for us. Then we'll be two tributes closer to winning, right? That's good! And I'm sure Kurt will underst- Blaine, where are you going?"

"I have to go back!" He grimaced as the cool air bit at his stump of a ring finger, the water from the river mixing with his blood and making it look even worse than it was. And it was already pretty bad. Without pausing in his stride, he removed his shirt and wrapped it tightly around his right hand.

"Blaine, stop!" Rachel ordered, chasing after him. "You're hurt! You can't go _back_ there! Why would you-?"

"They have the ring, Rachel!"

"Yes, I'm aware," she frowned, not understanding the importance of it. "But I haven't heard any canons, which means they must be still alive, even if only just. Maybe when they're dead you can-"

"Don't you _get_ it?" he barked, still plowing through the woods, retracing his steps, ignoring the throbbing in his right hand. His shirt was already beginning to soak through. "If they die and their bodies are lifted away, and the ring is still with one of them, I'll never see it again! I've _got_ to get it back before they-"

Two canon fires rang out.

"No!" He broke into a sprint.

"Blaine, no, stop!" Rachel cried, dashing after him. "There's nothing you can do! Kurt will understand! You lost your _finger_, Blaine, I don't think anybody could- _Blaine!_"

But he was not listening to her. He needed that ring. It was the only thing he had to remind him of why he had to keep fighting, why he had to win no matter what. That ring was his connection to Kurt, his connection to the outside world. _His_ world. The world he shared with the love of his life. And on top of that, it was the only thing Kurt had of his mother's. He'd _trusted_ Blaine with it. He couldn't let it go. Not now. Not ever.

When he stumbled to a stop, though, he knew it was too late. The hovercraft was just disappearing as he arrived, and the bodies were gone, leaving nothing behind except blood-splattered leaves and moss. There were Redbeaks scattered about the place, too; the survivors must have already moved on, now that their rage was appeased.

"No," he choked out, falling to his knees. He felt an overwhelming sense of failure wash over him. How was he supposed to be able to look Kurt in the eye now and know that he'd lost Kurt's most prized possession? That he'd fled like the coward he was, instead of staying and snatching it back?

"Blaine, please don't be upset," Rachel panted, resting a hand on his uninjured shoulder. He shook her off. "Blaine...There's nothing you could have done."

"I could have grabbed it instead of running away!"

"Blaine!" she scolded, voice torn between impatience and understanding. "If you'd stayed, you would be dead, too. And I think Kurt would much prefer you alive and ringless than _dead_."

She had a point. But it didn't make his failure any less painful.

"Besides," she added, sounding much more hopeful than she'd been a second ago. "Did you actually see Harmony put it on?"

"Um..." He sniffed, looking up at her. "No?" He tried to remember; everything had happened so quickly. He'd been acting on pure instinct. "No, Puck cut it off but I don't think he ever gave it to Harmony."

"Well there you go! They probably dropped it! There's a good chance it's still here."

They wasted no time scouring the place, kicking aside tiny feathered corpses, picking through blood-stained piles of leaves. Blaine became increasingly more distraught the longer they looked, but Rachel seemed determined.

"Well, where were you when they-...you know..."

Blaine moved to the approximate place he'd been pinned down, noting the small puddle of his own blood. "Here."

"Okay, and where was Puck?"

"Right beside me..." He glanced to his right, where the mohawked boy had crouched. Rachel crossed to his place and frowned down at the ground.

"And when Harmony shot the arrow..."

Blaine screwed up his face in concentration. "I ran towards that tree there" – he pointed to the now-empty Redbeak nest – "and they...would have tried to run in the opposite direction."

"And if Puck still had the ring, I doubt he would have cared enough about it to keep a hold of it, so he would have-"

"Would have thrown it aside!" Blaine finished for her, bending down to examine the forest floor around Rachel. Something red caught his eye, and he flipped over a fallen maple leaf. Rachel gasped and leapt back with a shriek of disgust. Blaine felt like he was about to be sick.

His finger laid there in the moss, pink and gray and covered in blood. But still wrapped around the base was that silver band, completely coated in dark red.

He reached for it.

"I- I can't," Rachel mumbled, turning away, both hands pressed to her mouth. Blaine held his breath as he slipped the ring off his dismembered digit, cleaning it off as best he could on the bottom of his pants and slipping it onto his left hand ring finger.

"Come on, Rachel. Let's go."

They made their way back to their little campsite silently. When they arrived, Blaine removed his shirt from his right hand – it had a huge stain that Rachel immediately volunteered to try and rinse out – and dunked both hands into the river. He rinsed off the rest of the blood from the ring, careful not to let it slip loose, before sliding it back onto his left hand.

"It's like a wedding ring now," Rachel mused from beside him, smiling brightly up at him as she continued to scrub at his shirt. "In the olden days, when people proposed, they put the ring on their left ring finger to show they were taken."

He nodded, studying the intricate pattern he'd grown to know so well. The people of District Twelve did not often have the money for rings or big engagement parties; the practices of the past were all but forgotten. But Blaine had always thought there was something so official and romantic about wearing a wedding ring. "Hopefully, one day..."

Rachel slowed in her cleaning, face drawn. "You _really_ want to go home, don't you?"

Blaine glanced over to his ally. She looked...contemplative. "I really, _really_ want to go home," he nodded. He wiggled his fingers on his left hand to make the ring glint in the fading sunlight. "I made a promise...And Anderson men never go back on their promises."

She gave him a small, sad smile. "Okay."

Without another word, she returned her attention to his shirt, and he let her be.

…

Just as they were tucking in for the night, after a dinner of fish and the rest of the berries, a parachute arrived. Blaine reached with his right hand to catch it, but flinched and drew back when a stabbing pain shot through his hand from the movement. Rachel quickly scrambled to get it instead.

"Bandages," she murmured, looking relieved. "For your f- _hand_." He knew she'd been about to say 'finger,' but then remembered that his finger was currently decaying somewhere in the woods. She moved to his right side, unraveling the white gauze and cotton. "This is great; I was worried it was going to get infected."

Blaine gritted his teeth and tried not to react as she pressed the sterilized swab to the stump between his middle finger and his pinkie, wrapping the gauze around his hand and tying it off across his palm firmly but gently.

"Thank you," he murmured.

She flashed a weak smile before curling up under the unzipped sleeping bag, which they were using like a blanket. The anthem played out, and the faces of Harmony and Puck were projected into the sky. Then silence, only broken by the nighttime sounds of the birds and the river and the small creatures scuttling around in the forest, hopefully getting caught in their traps. _Eight of us left._

It took Blaine a moment to realize that Rachel was crying.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sitting up. "Are you alright? Are you sick?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine," she whimpered.

He drew closer, carefully rolling her over so he could see her face, which was tear-streaked. "Rachel, come on, talk to me. Does your stomach hurt? Are you still hungry?" An uncomfortable thought struck him. "Are you having cramps or something?"

A bubble of laughter escaped. "No," she assured, "I'm not on my period. Relax."

"Oh, okay. Good. I mean, not that I mind, it's just, you know I'm not-"

She giggled again. "Blaine, calm down. I get it." She sniffed, wiping her eyes. "I was just...thinking."

"About what?"

"About all the things I wish I could have done before coming here...I was going to be a star, you know? I was going to make it big in the Capitol, as a famous singer...And I was going to get married to a nice, rich young man and we were going to have three children, two girls and one boy. And I was going to be so highly renowned that even President Sylvester was going to want to hear my performances."

Blaine felt like he'd just been stabbed in the chest.

"You- You might still be able to do all those things," he tried to encourage. But it sounded fake, even to his own ears.

She chuckled. "That would mean _you_ would have to die, though, Blaine. And that can't happen. Kurt..." She took a shuddering breath, as if stealing herself. "Kurt needs you to go home. You need to win."

His jaw dropped. "You-...You mean you-...? But what about-?"

"My dreams?" she cut in, a sad, resigned smile on her face. "Everybody has dreams, Blaine. Not everyone can achieve them. And in this case, only _one_ person can. And that person should be you."

Blaine felt his own eyes fill with tears, too.

"Can-...Can I just ask for one favor from you?"

He nodded.

"Can you h-hold me? It's been so long since anybody's..."

Blaine immediately reached out and pulled her into his arms, pressing her close to his chest. "Of course I can," he breathed, afraid if he spoke any louder his voice would crack. She curled into him, fingers clutching at his shirt, and he could feel and hear her sobbing quietly against him. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and rubbed her back and just let her cry, because it was the _least_ he could do considering everything _she_ was giving up for _him_.

A long time later, she finally slipped off into sleep, her body going limp against him. Only then did he let his own tears fall.

…

**I wanted to punch myself in the tear ducts while writing this. Why do I do this to myself?**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	5. Chapter 5: Love

"So who's left?" Rachel asked, plunking down next to Blaine cross-legged as they each settled into their cooked rabbit with crushed spiceroot for a little seasoning.

Blaine swallowed before answering. "Let's see...There's still Karofsky and Santana, and Quinn – they're Careers. Sebastian and Jesse are out there somewhere, too. And Finn, from District Eleven."

Rachel, to Blaine's immense surprise, blushed a little. "Oh, Finn, yes. He, uh- He's sort of handsome, isn't he?"

Blaine stared at her bemusedly. "I- I suppose so?" The only thing he'd really noticed about the guy was that he was extraordinarily tall. "Why? Do you like him?"

"Oh, no, no!" she said, far too quickly. "I just- At the very beginning of the Games, we'd sort of set up something of alliance, but then that blonde girl from Four – Quinn – threw a knife between us and we got separated, and I haven't seen him since."

Blaine made a noncommittal noise and continued eating.

"Blaine?"

"Hmm?"

"What's it like to be in love?"

He nearly dropped his rabbit. "I- What?" The question threw him for a loop; of all the things he expected her to ask, that had never been one of them. But she was gazing at him earnestly, clearly wanting a real answer, so he cleared his throat and tried to think of how best to phrase it. "It- It's the best feeling in the world, honestly. It makes you feel lightheaded and invincible and serene and loved. You feel like there will always be somebody at your side, even if they're not there in person. It makes your troubles seem smaller and you see the world brighter. It- I have no idea where I'd be without Kurt in my life."

She nodded thoughtfully.

"Why?" he added.

"No reason," was her quick response. He did not believe her, but he let it slide.

Just as they were finishing up lunch, he heard canon-fire. _One more down. Seven left._ "We should get moving," Blaine decided, getting to his feet and wiping his hands on his pants. His right hand was still wrapped in bandage, but when Rachel had checked it that morning it had looked alright. Or at least as alright as a finger stump could look under the circumstances. "We've stayed here too long."

"Alright," she agreed easily.

They made quick work of clearing up their traces and repacking the bag, which Rachel insisted on carrying even though the effort would not have any real effect on his hand. The two of them made their way in companionable silence through the forest. They were not very exciting; Blaine highly doubted the cameras were on them at the moment. Obviously something either was happening or was about to happen elsewhere, or else the Gamemakers would have done something horrific to them to try and spice up the entertainment. Like an avalanche, or a thunderstorm, or a stampede.

Then something worse appeared.

"Fancy seeing you two again," Sebastian smirked. His hair was a wreck and he had a nice long cut running down his forearm, and he walked with the slightest limp. He was flanked by Jesse and Finn (why they decided to form an alliance with him instead of killing him, Blaine had no idea) who were in similar states. Rachel gasped dropped the bag.

"I'd say 'nice to see you again' but I'd rather not lie," Blaine said cooly, trying to hide the terror coursing through him. Outnumbered and outmatched, they would need nothing short of a miracle to survive this time.

"Curly, Bigfoot, you two deal with the pipsqueak girl," Sebastian ordered, green gaze never wavering from Blaine's. "I'll handle lover boy."

Blaine subtly slipped the dagger into Rachel's hand. "Use it," he mouthed.

"No, Blaine-" she tried to protest. But then one of Jesse's throwing knives went soaring between them, and she shrieked and leapt away. Finn grabbed her and lifted her right off the ground. Blaine tried to follow, but Sebastian stepped in front of them, leering down at him.

"What happened to your hand?"

Blaine glared. "What happened to your face? Oh, wait, sorry, it's always been like that."

_Bad move._ He knew the moment the words left his mouth he'd regret it. Rage flashed through Sebastian's eyes, and a split second later Blaine was pinned to a tree by Sebastian's spear. He heard Rachel cry out, and some scuffling, but couldn't spare a glance to see what was happening over there. He was busy trying to breathe.

"Tie him up, Finn," Sebastian ordered. Blaine saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and then his arms were being tugged roughly behind his back and bound with rope. His bandages chafed against his wound, and he sucked in a hiss of breath. His nerves were all on overdrive; he could feel the bark of the tree digging into his back and arms, the rope cutting his wrists, the metal tip of Sebastian's blade tracing up his neck, the length of the spear pressing into his chest.

"Still think love can save you?" Sebastian sneered, his face mere inches from Blaine's.

Jesse snickered.

"Let him go!" Rachel cried.

There was a sickening snapping sound, a sharp gasp, and then the muffled thump of a body reaching the ground. "Rachel!" he cried, twisting his head around. Her body laid in a small heap next to Finn's (Blaine had not even noticed him go down) with Jesse standing over both of them indifferently, sword blood-stained. He made no move to clean it off. Blaine's stomach churned. _He killed his own ally as well?_

"It's a shame, really," Sebastian mused, using his knife to force Blaine's head back. He resisted the urge to spit in his face. "You really are quite attractive. I'd hate to defile such a pretty face..." The blade returned to Blaine's throat. "Perhaps I'll be nice and make this quick for you. Provided, of course, that you cooperate."

Blaine couldn't help it this time; he spat in his face.

"You're an asshole," he growled, the muscles in his arms straining as he tried to break his bonds. They did not yield, but he felt them catch on something – a piece of bark, perhaps. He moved his hands experimentally. The rope snagged again. _Perfect. I just have to keep them talking long enough…_

Sebastian wiped his face with his sleeve, surprise temporarily flashing across his otherwise arrogant expression. The shaft of his spear pressed into Blaine's chest even more, forcing his back to chafe against the rough wood behind him. He did his best not to wince as he felt scratches tear at his skin. The point of Sebastian's knife returned to the underside of Blaine's jaw.

"You just don't know when to give up, do you?" He shook his head, as if mourning this lack of instinct for Blaine. "Since I'm such a generous guy, though, I'll give you two options."

He glared at Sebastian's sneer, but muttered grudgingly, "And what might those be?"

"If you say you don't love Kurt anymore, and you kiss me, I'll be sure to make your death very quick and as painless as possible. If not…" The tip of the blade pierced his skin; he could feel blood behind to trickle down his throat. "I'm going to be sure to make this _last_, and your poor, pathetic little boyfriend back home will get to watch you die a very slow, very _painful_ death." He shrugged. The pressure of the knife relaxed. "Your choice."

Blaine clenched his jaw. He felt his bonds slacken just the slightest bit as he grazed the rope yet again over that notch in the trunk. _It's working_. "I love Kurt," he said firmly, silently wishing Sebastian a thousand years of suffering with his eyes. "And I always will. I wouldn't kiss you if you were the last man on Earth."

Something flickered across Sebastian's face, but it was replaced too quickly with fury for Blaine to place. "Suit yourself," he hissed, thrusting Blaine back harder into the tree with the spear. He gasped involuntarily; the bark tore at his already raw skin. He could feel blood begin to seep across his shirt. Sebastian's move, however, had jostled Blaine's bonds, and they had caught yet again, a few more strands breaking. Blaine was wondering how many times he'd need to rub the rope against the rough piece before he could break free with his own strength when suddenly pain erupted in his face, and he cried out before he could stop himself.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did that hurt?" Sebastian leered. Jesse sniggered.

Blaine schooled his face back to a neutral expression. Sebastian had cut horizontally across his cheekbone, just under his right eye. Not too deep, but definitely enough to draw blood. He pursed his lips when the metallic fluid reached his mouth. Another yank of his wrists. _Come on, come on!_

"Do his stupid eyebrows!" Jesse called. This was clearly nothing more than entertainment for him. Exactly like the citizens of the Capitol, who were probably just _loving_ this. Blaine grazed his bonds over the bark once more.

Sebastian, taking Jesse's suggestion to heart, raised the knife and flicked it in front of Blaine's left eye. He blinked in spite of himself, but did not react when he felt the familiar sting that meant more skin had been ripped open. He bowed his head to make sure no blood got in his eye. He needed to be able to see if his plan was going to work.

"Oh, submitting already?" Sebastian jeered, forcing his head up with the flat of his blade. "But sweetheart, I've only just started." With a quick twist of his wrist, the knife sliced a cut cleanly up his chin. "You know, my offer still stands…"

He opened his mouth, about to tell Sebastian everything he would rather do than kiss Sebastian – a list which included plucking his own eyeballs out and bathing in a pond of piranhas – when suddenly he thought of Kurt. He could see him now, hands on his hips, that raised eyebrow he always gave Blaine when he was being stubborn. _'What do you think you're doing, Blaine?'_ he could practically hear him saying. _'Just go along with it! It'll throw them for a loop and buy you some time. You need to stay alive. You promised…You promised you'd come back to me. You promised!'_

Blaine raised his eyes to Sebastian's. "Alright."

The taller boy looked taken aback. "Seriously?" When Blaine's gaze did not waver, he burst out laughing. "Wow, you're even weaker than I thought, Anderson! Man, I doubt that boyfriend of yours will miss you very much. Alright, go on, then. Say it!" He nudged Blaine's Adam's apple with the point of his knife impatiently. He lifted his head to avoid piercing himself when he swallowed. He trained his eyes on the ground and gave another, slightly more violent tear at the ropes; he was almost there. He could see Kurt in his inner mind, nodding, encouraging him.

'_Do it, Blaine. I'll understand.'_

"I don't love Kurt."

He felt his heart convulse painfully. It felt like every nerve in his body was screaming at him to take it back. He wanted to yell that it wasn't true, to beg Kurt to forgive him, but he bit his tongue. He needed to _survive_. Then he could plead and grovel with Kurt in person, like he'd promised.

Sebastian seemed a little baffled by Blaine's cooperation; he clearly had never actually expected him to go along with it. Blaine strained at his bonds, ignoring the way they cut into his wrists. They stretched and loosened. One more strong, solid tug would probably break them. He sent a silent thanks to that poor idiot, Finn, for only using one piece of rope.

"Well?"

He looked up. Obviously Sebastian had recovered from his surprise. His regular smirk was back in place. "I'm waiting for my kiss, lover boy. And then I'll be sure to give you a swift death so that you don't have to think for too long about how _crushed_ your boyfriend must be."

"Screw you, Smythe," he spat.

"Only if you really want," he threw back. Then he released the pressure on Blaine's chest and instead stuck the spear into the ground beside him, giving Blaine the ability to lean forward as Sebastian stepped back into his personal space, smiling wickedly. Blaine felt tears spring to his eyes. _Forgive me, Kurt…_

The second their lips touched, his bonds broke.

Without hesitation, he swung his right arm – his stronger arm, even with his injury – around and smashed it into Sebastian's face. The taller boy cried out in shock, the unexpected hit knocking him to the ground. With speed Blaine did not even know he possessed, he snatched the abandoned spear and sunk it into Sebastian's chest with a gut-churning crunch.

He glanced up at Jesse, and he knew he must have looked completely mental, wild with fury. Jesse glanced down at Sebastian, then up at Blaine, and panic overtook his expression. Instead of fighting, he turned and ran.

_Not happening. You killed Rachel. You're not getting off with that._

Blaine snatched up the knife Sebastian had dropped when Blaine hit him, took aim, and threw it. It sank deep into Jesse's back, and with a gasping cry, he went down, and stopped moving at once.

A hand brushed his pant leg.

He jumped back, not expecting Sebastian to still be alive. But he was, although just barely. His mouth was opening and closing, no words coming out.

Blaine crouched down next to him. "I will _always_ love Kurt," he hissed.

A pained look crossed Sebastian's features, and then he too fell still.

…

Blaine tried to make Rachel look as peaceful as possible – shut her eyes, brushed her blood-knotted hair off her face, folded her hands across her chest. He kissed her forehead and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Rach." Then, with a final glance at her lifeless face, he grabbed whatever he thought he'd need and left. When he heard the four canons, he did not look back, but plunged on, absently following the river, not stopping until his vision became too blurred with tears. He dropped his bags and weapons and sank down at the base of a tree and let out a heart-wrenching sob. His knees drew up to his chest and he wrapped his arms around them, trying desperately to hold himself together as he cried.

"I'm so sorry," he muttered, his tears mixing with the blood on his face and dripping down onto his pants. "I'm sorry, Kurt, please forgive me…I'm so sorry…I love you, Kurt. I love you, I'm so sorry! Please forgive me, I love you…Kurt, I didn't mean it. I swear, I didn't mean it. I love you! I'm s-so sorry."

He had no idea how long he rambled for, chanting the same apologies and assurances to empty space. At some point, his tears stopped, and then after a while, the sobs died off into hiccups. Feeling no less miserable about what he'd done, he got to his feet. He knew he couldn't stay in one place for too long; there were still two Careers out there he'd need to defeat in order to win the Games and get back to Kurt – Karofsky, Santana or Quinn. And chances were, whichever two that were left, they'd team up against him.

The sun was beginning to set by the time he emerged from the trees – after glancing around to make sure there were no signs of the other tributes – and moved to the stream. He washed his hands first, carefully rewrapping his bandages. Then he cleaned his face and neck, wincing as he brushed over his cuts as gently as possible. The ones on his chin, throat and cheek weren't too bad, but the one on his eyebrow was deep; he was pretty sure it reached bone. His wrists were raw, but nothing that needed treatment. (Not that he had anything to treat them with, anyway.) He stripped off his shirt last – shivering in the rapidly falling temperature – and carefully laid back into the shallow end of the river, letting the water flow passed his cuts and scratches.

He washed the blood out of his shirt as best he could. Rachel had been better at it. _Don't think about _her, he scolded himself. _She's gone. She's probably in a better place than here._

He knew better than to put back on a wet shirt, what with night falling and the air turning frigid. With goose-bumps all over his body, he grabbed his bag and scaled a tree until he found a sturdy-looking branch. He draped his damp shirt over a nearby thinner one and cocooned himself with the sleeping bag, trying desperately not to think about how he'd shared it with Rachel and how he'd never see her again now. She may have been loud and obnoxious, but he was pretty sure that if they'd known each other better outside of the Hunger Games, they would have been good friends. He could see her and Kurt getting along well.

Blaine drew the sleeping bag still tighter, as if trying to compensate for the lack of a body beside him. If Kurt was there, Blaine knew he'd wrap his arms around him and snuggle close to his side and kiss his cheek and murmur 'sweet dreams' in his ear.

But he wasn't.

"I miss you, Kurt," he whispered, hoping the cameras and hidden microphones picked up on it and found it important enough to broadcast so that Kurt could get the message. "I need you…"

He pictured Kurt, chestnut hair adorably bed-tousled as he sat up and gazed down at him lovingly, moonlight streaming in from his bedroom window the way it always did and falling across his flawless features. _'I need you too, you dummy,'_ Blaine imagined him rolling his eyes. _'So you'd better hurry up and win this thing and get back to me. I'm waiting for you.'_

The image faded away, leaving Blaine with a hollow, longing feeling. Part of him was missing; he'd left his heart back with Kurt, and he felt ill being apart from him for so long. He wanted to be able to kiss him again, and hold him close, and fall asleep in his arms, and wake up early so he could bring him coffee, because Kurt loved to be awoken with coffee, and-

He had to stop himself. If he kept on this train of thought he'd start crying again, and he didn't need any sponsors he might have thinking he was weak.

'_Love isn't weakness,'_ he heard in Kurt's voice. _'Love is the source of one's greatest strength. You _have_ that strength, Blaine. __Use__ it.'_

The anthem rang out through the arena, and Blaine glanced up into the sky. There were the four predicted faces – Finn, Rachel, Sebastian, and Jesse – but then the fifth: Quinn. Which meant the last two tributes apart from himself were Santana and Karofsky.

He knew that with only three left, the Gamemakers would want to bring them together and have a final battle pretty soon. He'd have to be prepared. Somehow, he'd have to win. He _needed_ to win. Kurt was waiting for him. _What do I do, Kurt? How am I supposed to take on two Careers?_

'_You use your strengths to your advantage,'_ he pictured his boyfriend saying, in that knowing tone of his that never failed to make Blaine smile. This time, the two of them were lounging on Kurt's living room couch, arms loose around one another, a blanket thrown over their legs, simply basking in their time alone together.

_What strengths?_

'_You're tiny, for one thing.' _Kurt tapped him on the nose, laughing that bell-like laugh when Blaine pouted. He then continued. _'You're fast, too. Santana is good with long-range fighting; make sure to dodge, with her. Karofsky's more of a hand-to-hand combat kind of guy. You're strong, but not as strong as Karofsky. You'll need to take him by surprise.'_

Blaine closed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. Without Kurt even being here in person, he'd somehow managed to calm him down and give him a plan.

_Thank you, Kurt._

…

**Nothing from Kurt's perspective this time, but there will be some next chapter. It'll also be the final chapter. :)**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


	6. Chapter 6: Victor END

**Alright, the final chapter has arrived! Thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing, alerting, etc. :) It means the world to me. Hope you enjoy!**

…

Kurt had his father's hand in a death grip, but the older man did not make him let go. They were both leaning forward on the couch, eyes trained on the screen, completely immobile. Blaine and the two tributes from District One were facing off in the dry-grass clearing surrounding the Cornucopia. All of them were injured in some way, but they were all still very capable of killing; they each had their own strengths and weaknesses. It would have been an even match, had the girl and boy from One not been teamed up against Blaine.

"He's gonna be okay, he's gonna be okay," Burt chanted under his breath. Kurt could not speak; he just stared at the television, watched his boyfriend, willed his safe return with every fiber of his being.

_The final three. He's made it so far. Just hold on for a little longer, Blaine..._

Kurt felt numb during the fight apart from the knot his insides had become. He watched, his expression unreadable, as Santana suddenly turned on her ally and threw a knife into his side; watched as Karofsky fell to the ground, writhing in pain; watched as Blaine dodged one of Santana's blades but got caught on the shoulder by a second; watched as he brandished the sword he'd taken from Jesse, the blood from his reopened wound above his eye trickling down his cheek; watched as Santana fought him to the ground, only to be pierced in the neck by Karofsky's spear.

"Do it!" Burt shouted at the screen passionately, leaping to his feet, fists clenched. The hope in his eyes was blinding. In that one moment, anybody looking at him would have thought Blaine was his own son. And he was, in a sense.

Kurt remained still, but his heart would not stop racing and his shoulder stung as if he'd been struck as well by a throwing knife. _This is it. One on one. Whatever happens now will decide if I ever see my boyfriend again._

The couch would definitely have permanent nail-sized tears in the fabric by the end of all this.

…

"Do it…"

Blaine stared at him. "What?" he wheezed, sure he'd heard him wrong. He was crouched in the grass, clutching his shoulder and trying to get a firmer grasp on the handle of his sword, which suddenly felt far too heavy to wield. He was exhausted, and everything hurt; he was about to keel over at any second. _Hold on_, he commanded. _Just hold on for a bit longer..._

"Do it," Karofsky repeated, voice slightly stronger, but still strained. He coughed, and blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth. "Just end it already. One of us has to die. Hurry up…"

"But…You mean-?"

"You have that boyfriend of yours to get back to." Karofsky winced, and groaned. The red patch at his side was spreading; the metallic stench was overpowering. "H-…He's waiting for you. I don't…I don't have anybody waiting for me. I'm not f-…" His breathing was labored; it was clearly taking a great deal of effort just to get the words out. "I'm not fighting for anybody but myself. Just _do_ it."

Blaine got a tighter grasp on the sword and dragged himself towards the larger boy, gritting his teeth against the shockwaves of pain ripping through his arm from the movement. He felt light-headed; he knew he was going to pass out very soon. With his remaining strength, he raised the sword's edge to Karofsky's throat.

The taller boy gave a firm nod, his eyes pleading with him to just end the pain and let him find peace. Blaine nodded in return, thanking him wordlessly for his sacrifice, before taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, and making the final blow.

There was a moment of dead silence.

Then the final canon sounded, and Blaine rolled over onto his back, struggling to stay conscious as the announcer's voice boomed out, proclaiming him as the 58th Hunger Games Victor. He could hear the hovercraft above him. All he could see was darkness, though, and he simply didn't have the strength left in him to force his eyes open.

He desperately hoped that when he awoke, it would be to Kurt's beautiful face.

…

Unfortunately, it was not.

It was to medical doctors in clean white coats, and he was laying in a clean white bed surrounded by clean white walls. They had fixed him up as best they could; the only visible signs of his days in the arena were two scars – a tiny one cutting vertically through his eyebrow, courtesy of Sebastian, and a long but thin one on his shoulder where Santana had left her mark. There was a prosthetic finger on his right hand where his stump had been. It took a little getting used to.

"Where's my ring?" he demanded suddenly, voice hoarse from lack of use.

The woman with orange skin frowned a little at him, but picked up the silver band from where it sat on the tray by his bedside. He stuck out his hand for it. After a moment of internal debate, he slipped it onto his fake new finger, where it shone dully under the florescent hospital lights.

He was forced to sit with Caesar the next night and watch the recap of the Games, keeping his face blank as he saw each of his fellow tributes' last moments. He felt sick. When Rachel's time came, he couldn't help it; he had to close his eyes. They were all people; they'd all had dreams, and goals, and people who loved them. They had family and friends and a past and a potential future.

And they were gone now.

Because of him.

"Now, Blaine!" Caesar turned to him, and then paused as the crowd died down. He flashed a winning smile at them before returning his attention to Blaine. "First off, let me congratulate you! It's not often we get a Victor from one of the outlying Districts. Well done, Blaine, well done."

"Thank you." Blaine forced a smile, although he wasn't sure he was even heard over the roar of the audience. But he could see that his face was all over the screens. "I can honestly say I'm glad to be here." A wave of chuckling rippled through the onlookers.

"I should think so," Caesar nodded, as if he understood what Blaine was feeling. Which, of course, he didn't. He never had to kill to survive; Capitol citizens didn't know the _first thing_ about sacrifice, about suffering. "So, tell me, Blaine, what kept you going through this whole ordeal? How were you able to handle it?"

The answer was simple, and immediate. "Kurt."

The audience cooed their approval.

Caesar grinned. "Ah, yes, _love_," he sighed, a hand over his heart. "But what exactly do you mean by that, Blaine? Kurt obviously wasn't _with_ you in the arena. How did he help you through it all?"

"He was with me," Blaine insisted, a small but genuine smile flickering over his lips as he remembered those oddly vivid scenes he always conjured up in his mind. "Not physically, but...I guess you could say spiritually? I don't know, it's hard to explain. There were just these moments when I could see him, and hear him, _so_ clearly it was as if he was right there with me. I had..._flashes_, I suppose you could call them."

"Flashes?" Caesar urged with interest.

"Yeah...We'd be...In my head, I was back with Kurt, in District Twelve, and he'd be comforting me, and telling me what I needed to do next."

"How fascinating," Caesar murmured, leaning forward in his chair. Blaine could feel the audience's gazes boring into him. He tried not to look too uncomfortable at all the attention. _They probably think I'm a nutjob now._

"It- It sounds kinda weird when I say it out loud," he chuckled embarrassedly.

"No, no, no!" Caesar assured. "Not weird at all! You and Kurt must have such a strong connection to be able to support one another from so far away..." The audience 'aww'ed. A few women even burst into tears. "What sort of things did Kurt say to you, in the arena? Can you think of one particular 'flash' of yours?"

Blaine bit his bottom lip, wondering if that sort of thing was too personal to be told to the whole of Panem. But, then again, it wasn't as though Kurt had actually said or done any of those things. So he supposed it couldn't hurt. _Probably just make a few more Capitol citizens weep over how beautiful our relationship is..._The thought was sickening. "Well, there was this one time, near the end of the Games..."

"Yes?" Caesar pressed.

"We were- I mean, I was _actually_ up in a tree, but in my mind, I was back with Kurt, in his bedroom, and he was holding me." He paused, waiting for the audience to settle down again. As he'd predicted, more handkerchiefs were being used already. "He was encouraging me and sort of...I guess _strategizing_ for me, in a way. And he-...He told me something that he'd actually said to me before, back at the Reaping. So I guess that part was more of a memory than anything."

"And what was that?" Caesar smiled kindly at him.

Blaine took a deep breath. "'Love isn't a weakness. Love is the source of one's greatest strength.'"

"And apparently he was right," said Caesar. "And I assume you must be very excited to see him?"

"More than I could ever tell you."

"What will you do when you're finally reunited?"

"Holding him in my arms and never letting go sounds good." The crowd laughed and cheered their approval of this plan. "Honestly, though, I don't think I'll actually accept that this is all over until I can see and hear and touch him for myself again."

"Well, we have a little surprise for you, Blaine," Caesar confessed secretively. "We've never done this before with any other Victor, but..."

He gestured towards the left side of the stage, behind him, and Blaine's gaze followed curiously. A young man emerged, dressed in a neat white suit and sky-blue tie, chestnut-brown hair coiffed to perfection and flawless pale skin practically glowing under the stage lights.

"Kurt!" Blaine choked out in disbelief.

Kurt's eyes filled with tears. "Blaine!" he cried, and then he broke into a run. Blaine catapulted out of his seat and caught him in his arms and spun him around and clutched him like he was the only real thing in the world, face buried in Kurt's shoulder, breathing in that distinctive scent that always calmed him down and made him feel at home, re-memorizing the feeling of their chests pressed flush against each other, their arms locked around one another, absorbed in their own little universe where nothing else mattered or existed. He could hear Kurt crying, muttering 'oh my god' and 'you're alive' and 'I missed you' over and over in his ear, and he just held him closer still, because his own words were lodged in his throat and he doubted that lump would be going away anytime soon. The emotions were too overwhelming; seeing Kurt again was even more than a dream come true. It was singlehandedly the greatest moment of his life.

"You're here!" he finally breathed, drawing back and cupping Kurt's face in his hands, tracing those familiar features with the tips of his fingers. He was even more handsome than he'd remembered, if that was even possible.

"I'm here," Kurt agreed, his voice hitching as he gave Blaine a watery smile.

"President Sylvester invited him here herself, as the Capitol's own gesture of congratulations," Caesar explained, beaming at the two of them as if he'd _personally_ brought them together again.

"Remind me to thank her," Blaine mumbled distractedly, eyes never leaving Kurt. The audience – which Blaine had completely forgotten about the moment he locked eyes with his boyfriend – laughed.

Moving as one, they settled down into Blaine's seat across from Caesar, giggling and holding one another as if afraid the other would disappear as soon as they lost physical contact. Blaine's left arm was around Kurt's shoulders, and Kurt was playing idly with his right hand the way he always did when they were curled up on the couch back home.

"You're finger-!" he suddenly realized, tracing over the prosthetic digit.

Blaine nodded. "Not real." He wiggled his fingers. The ring caught the light, and he carefully slipped it off and offered it to Kurt. "I promised I'd come back to you..."

Kurt's eyes grew misty, and they both completely ignored all the eyes and cameras on them, and the incessant cooing and sobbing and cheering as they kissed. But then Kurt took his mother's silver vine-patterned band, grabbed Blaine's left hand, and slipped it onto his ring finger.

"I want this to be yours," he whispered.

"But-" Blaine tried to protest. This was the only thing left of Kurt's mom, after all.

"As another promise," clarified Kurt. "To- To _stay_ with me. Forever."

Blaine's jaw dropped when he realized what Kurt meant.

"Blaine Anderson..." Kurt took a deep breath, holding Blaine's left hand tightly between his own. "Will you marry me?"

His 'yes' was completely lost amongst the deafening uproar of the crowd, but it didn't matter; Kurt could see the answer in his eyes. He kissed the ring – Blaine's ring, now – and then Blaine himself. The shorter young man reached up to cup Kurt's face in his hands, drawing him closer, not caring that he was crying, wanting Kurt to know just how happy he made him.

"This is magnificent, folks!" Caesar beamed. "How wonderf-" He broke off, hand flying to his earpiece. He then straightened up with a grin. "Great news, you two! The President herself has just offered to host your wedding here, in the Capitol!"

Blaine was speechless, so Kurt spoke for him.

"We would be honored, thank you. I'm sure any ceremony held here would be a thousand times more extravagant than anything we would be able to pull off in District Twelve."

Blaine smirked at his boyfriend's – _fiancée's_, he corrected in his head – words. At the surface, it was a grateful compliment. Underneath, however, it was a backhanded comment on the state of the luxurious Capitol in comparison to the suffering Districts. Blaine had always loved how smart Kurt was with his words. He could say one thing but mean something entirely different.

The interview ended soon after that, and they departed on a wave of final applause and cheers and tears. The two of them were guided through a maze of hallways to where the president would apparently be meeting them.

"Blaine," Kurt breathed excitedly, squeezing his arm. "We're about to discuss our _wedding_. With President Sylvester, valid, but still. Can you believe it?"

Blaine kissed him on the cheek. "You're adorable."

Kurt pressed his lips to Blaine's lightly. "I could say the same about you."

"Even with my scars and fake finger?"

Kurt's smile faded, and his glasz gaze was so intense Blaine nearly walked face-first into a wall. Kurt traced over the scar on his eyebrow, then kissed it. "I love every single bit of you, Blaine. Scars and fake finger included. I want to marry _all_ of you. Anyway, I already asked for your father's permission."

Blaine blinked away the water in his eyes and laughed. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"And he didn't kick you out of the house?"

"It was a close call," Kurt admitted. Their guide – an Avox with deadened blue eyes – turned a sharp corner, and Kurt latched their elbows together and swung them around to follow her. Blaine was pretty sure he'd only done it so their arms could be linked. "But in the end he said yes, and Cooper just said 'about time' and your mother cried a bit and told me to tell you she can't wait to see you again."

Blaine took a deep, calming breath. "You're a brave man, Kurt Hummel," he said, only partially teasing.

Kurt bumped him on the hip. "Anything for you."

The Avox stopped abruptly and gestured to a set of double doors. Kurt's hand flew down to interlace their fingers together, the cool metal of the ring somehow calming to both of them. A reminder. A reassurance.

A promise.

…

**The end. ;) Hope you enjoyed!**

**Kisses,**

**~Ripple**


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